


I Can Feel The Draw (I can feel it pulling me back)

by MotherBooker



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Beaches, Board Games, Children, Dueling, Dueling Instructor Harry Potter, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, H/D Fan Fair 2019, Hugs, Kissing in the Snow, M/M, Misunderstanding, Oblivious Draco Malfoy, One Shot, POV Draco Malfoy, Pining Draco Malfoy, Post-Hogwarts, Potions Master Draco Malfoy, Recluse Draco Malfoy, Romance, Secondary Theme: Pottermore Fair, Summer Camp, Swimming Pools
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2020-11-22 04:11:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20867990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MotherBooker/pseuds/MotherBooker
Summary: Draco has spent the years since the war tucked away in his house working on potions with only an 18th-century portrait for company, but Potter knocking on his door in need of a dueling partner might just change his life in ways he could never imagine.





	I Can Feel The Draw (I can feel it pulling me back)

**Author's Note:**

> For Prompt #[197](https://docs.google.com/document/d/16er_sVwwFtbVQxtiFqHRWhw09kwNYhywsB-R48qtVPU/edit#).
> 
> The title is inspired by Bastille’s song, The Draw, reflecting the many hours I spent listening to Bastille on repeat to get this finished. Thank you to my amazing beta, Orange_Coyote, and thank you to the mods for hosting and being so generous with my extension!

Draco turned down the flame, sprinkling the last few grams of powdered unicorn horn into the bubbling green mixture. Ten more minutes and he’d be able to add the final vial of dragon’s blood and let the potion simmer until tea time.

_Knock, knock._

Draco groaned, banging his fist on the workbench in anger. He’d been working on this potion for 3 days, for an old lady up in Kent with chronic knee pain who was one of his regular customers. He’d yet to let her down in the years he’d been sending her potions and he didn’t want to start now. The potion would be ruined if he didn’t add the dragon’s blood exactly ten minutes after the horn. Whoever was at the door would just have to _wait_.

_Knock, knock._

“Impatient arsehole,” Draco muttered, wiping down the worktop and levitating the vials of ingredients back to their proper places. Refilling them was a job for tomorrow he decided.

_Knock, knock._

The knocking was louder this time, and more insistent. He supposed it was too much to hope that someone who had gone to the trouble of climbing up a hill to his front door would just give up after a few knocks. With a heavy sigh and a great deal of annoyance, Draco threw his cloth down and extinguished the flame underneath the potion. He’d give the lady a discount and hope he didn’t lose her business over the delay, he decided, vanishing the potion that was rapidly turning a dark shade of purple and checking that the batch of Wolfsbane in the corner of the lab wouldn’t bubble over if he left it unattended.

He glanced in the mirror as he made his way to the door, wiping a spot of dirt off his cheek and patting his hair down in a feeble attempt to make it look a bit less like he’d lost a fight in Snape’s potions cupboard.

“There better be a bloody good reason for you knocking on my door, I’ve just ruined a potion thanks to you,” Draco said as he yanked open the door, pausing as he realised who was stood on his doorstep.

“_Malfoy?_”

Harry Potter stood outside his door, surrounded by children who were peering eagerly into the house. He looked as shocked as Draco felt, his mouth hanging open and his eyes looking everywhere but Draco’s face. He settled on a spot on the doorframe to the left of Draco’s shoulder, as if not looking at him would make him disappear. Draco couldn’t blame him really; he wasn’t exactly overjoyed to see Potter again, even if the bastard had somehow become _more _attractive since they were at school.

“Potter. How… _wonderful _to see you again,” Draco drawled, folding his arms and straightening himself. Potter winced, running a hand through his hair nervously. There was a snigger from Potter’s right and Draco suddenly realised that Blaise was standing amongst the children, smirking in a way that told Draco he knew _exactly _why he was so distracted that he didn’t notice one of his oldest friends. He raised an eyebrow when Draco glared. This was obviously all Blaise’s fault, Draco was certain. He couldn’t pass up an opportunity to embarrass Draco and what better way to do it than turning up at his house with Draco’s old rival/not-so-secret crush? He wouldn’t rise to the bait - they were adults now, Draco could simply play nice for a few minutes then shut the door in Potter’s face, without any childish insults or violence.

“Why are you here, Potter? And with a small army of children at that?”

“I need a duelling partner.”

Potter _clearly _had other ideas.

-

Before he knew it, Draco was stood on a makeshift dueling platform, facing Potter with his wand drawn. All it had taken was a few pouting children and a hint of desperation from Potter and he’d caved.

Merlin, he was going soft.

“So how are we doing this, Potter?” He asked, adjusting his grip on his wand. Potter seemed equally nervous and Draco wondered if he was recalling the catastrophe that was their duel in second year too. “No setting snakes on the students this time, I suppose?”

_At least Lockhart is in St Mungo’s under lock and key,_ he reassured himself, _and Potter seems to know what he’s doing._

Potter scowled and turned his attention to the students surrounding the platform. They were all Hogwarts students attending a summer camp that McGonagall had set up with the help of some of Draco’s old classmates. He vaguely recalled signing the documents for the Ministry to allow them to use his land, but he’d been far too busy hiding from the Wizarding World and focusing on his potions work to visit the camp.

They’d been expecting to see Ginny Weasley - the Holyhead Harpies’ star chaser - duel, but the prospect of watching two infamous childhood rivals duel seemed to have erased any disappointment. He felt so _privileged _to be a source of entertainment.

“The aim is to disarm, not harm, without simply using Expelliarmus. We will use the tickling spell, the leg-locker curse, the body-bind spell, and the jelly legs curse, because they’re the spells we focused on in our session on Tuesday. You can use other spells, but nothing above fourth-year ability, and nothing physical.” Potter said, using what Draco could only describe as his ‘teacher voice’. The children fell silent, hanging onto Potter’s every word and Draco was silently impressed. “We won’t use shield charms either. I want them to see the effects of the spells we’ve been working on.”

“Before we begin, who can remember the incantation for the tickling spell?” Hands shot up around them, some of the children standing on tiptoes in an effort to get Potter’s attention. It was like watching 30 first year Grangers all at once.

“Martine?”

The girl - a first year he suspected, considering she was at least a head shorter than half the children around her - went bright red and stuttered out an answer, clearly not used to the sort of attention she was receiving. “Titillando!”

“Correct!” She beamed and Potter turned back to face Draco. “Ready Malfoy?”

“Of course, Potter.” Draco sneered, gripping his wand tighter and willing his hand to stop shaking. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly why he was so terrified about dueling Potter, but he simply put it down to a fear of embarrassment and refused to dwell on the issue any longer, lest his brain begin coming up with ridiculous suggestions, like he was scared of hurting Potter.

They bowed and there was a brief period of hesitation where they merely stared into each other’s eyes, waiting for the other to make the first move. Draco could have stayed like that all day, staring into Potter’s rather captivating eyes.

Draco shook himself, and pushed those thoughts away, casting the first spell. “_Locomotor Mortis!_” Potter’s legs froze and it was with great satisfaction that Draco noticed the shock on his face - he clearly hadn’t been expecting Draco to make the first move. “_Titillando!_”

Potter was laughing uncontrollably now and he crashed to the floor, no longer able to keep his balance. This was far easier than Draco had expected - the great Harry Potter taken down with two first-year spells.

All of a sudden Potter was moving his wand again, casting a Trip Jinx and sending Draco sprawling across the platform. Potter was back on his feet before Draco could say _Flitwick _and smirking at him in a way that made Draco wish he could punch the expression off his stupidly handsome face.

“That was fast, Malfoy. Impressive, but don’t fall into a false sense of security.”

Draco could feel his cheeks heating up at Potter’s condescending tone and scowled. “_Mimble wimble,_” he spat, “I don’t need any of your advice, Potter. _Tarantallegra_.”

The kids burst into laughter as Potter began dancing uncontrollably, performing an odd jig that was probably popular sometime during the 18th century. Draco muttered another spell and watched in satisfaction as Potter found himself sneezing and suddenly unable to move his legs again.

It surprised him, the intensity of emotions Potter was awakening in him. The swirl of anger and competitiveness rising in his chest was something he hadn’t experienced since the Gryffindor and Slytherin quidditch matches at the height of their rivalry, when his life revolved around finding ways to attract Potter’s attention. The thrill he got from Potter’s unwavering gaze awoke old emotions Draco had forgotten existed and he knew that this could only end badly.

“_Oppungo_.” Draco’s thoughts were interrupted by flowers and chunks of grass being ripped from the ground and flying towards him, catching in his hair and sliding down the neck of his shirt. Potter was smirking again and he opened his mouth - presumably to critique Draco’s momentary lapse of concentration. It was with great satisfaction that Draco watched as Potter realised he couldn’t offer him any sort of advice or criticism.

“Tongue-tying curse, Potter,” Draco taunted, gathering the plants into a ball and flicking his wand, sending them flying into Potter’s open mouth. Potter spluttered, vanishing the stuff in his mouth and ducking to avoid the spells Draco continued to send his way. He summoned another handful of grass and transfigured them into spiders, sending them at Draco faster than he was able to shield himself. They latched onto his clothes, crawling all over him and finding their way under his collar, legs scratching against his bare skin. There was a pause as he banished as many spiders as he could see, glaring at Potter. Something seemed to pass between them, a silent agreement that this was no longer a little demonstration, but rather a duel between two old rivals with a score to settle.

It went downhill from there. Their spells became more advanced, more serious - horn-growing hexes, conjunctivitis curses and knock-back jinxes - and Draco could no longer keep track of the spells they were using, too distracted by his growing excitement.

This could be his chance to beat Potter, to finally get one over him and prove Potter wasn’t as invincible as the Wizarding World seemed to think he was. He should have known it would be impossible to break his tradition of losing to Potter.

“_Petrificus Totalus!_” Draco cursed his luck as he fell to the floor, wand slipping from his grip. Potter was on top of him in seconds, kneeling over him as he pushed his wand against Draco’s chest and reversed the spell. Potter’s face was close, too close - Draco could see every speck of colour in his irritatingly mesmerising eyes, see every little crease in his lips and each and every freckle covering the bridge of his nose. He pushed Potter away, the applause from the children gathered around them snapping him out of his thoughts.

It seemed that his long-dead crush was not so dead after all.

-

_Lunch?_ \- _L _

Draco sighed, folding the little note back up and sending the little Elf owl on its way with a pat on the head and a treat. He should have closed the door in Potter’s face as soon as he realised who it was, Merlin knows the man only brought him trouble.

He had intended to make a quick exit after the duel, unwilling to stick around after his rather horrifying realisation and wanting nothing more than to hide away in his lab and drown himself in dusty old potion texts until he forgot all about Harry _bloody _Potter.

Luna had very different ideas.

She had approached him after the duel, forgoing polite greetings in favour of a rib-crushing hug, and asked him to stay for dinner. Draco could never say no to her. It had been awkward, to say the least, surrounded by old classmates who wanted nothing to do with him and school children who wanted to know everything about him. Luna - seemingly oblivious to the tension around the table - had kept up a conversation about Flitwick’s chosen hair potions for the best part of an hour and Draco had escaped without embarrassing himself in front of Potter, so Draco considered it a success.

He had expected Granger to put a stop to it and prevent Luna from creating more uncomfortable meals, but, to his dismay, she’d encouraged it and Draco had been summoned to lunch four times in the past week. Apparently interacting with people from different backgrounds was beneficial for children, but Draco thought Granger just enjoyed torturing him.

He supposed he could say no and come up with a suitable excuse to avoid spending another afternoon staring at Potter and doing his best to answer the million questions the children always seemed to have. The memory of Luna’s disappointed eyes and fading grin when he tried to refuse yesterday was enough to convince him that maybe lunch wouldn’t be too bad.

-

“Are you _sure _you can’t turn someone into a table with a potion?”

Draco sighed, resisting the urge to bang his head against the table. “I’m quite sure. A spell can do that for you.” He couldn’t understand how Luna could put up with the incessant questions all summer - he’d only been sat with the children for five minutes and he was ready to hex the next person to ask him something else.

Draco had assumed that lunch meant that he’d be shoved onto a picnic bench outside the children’s cabins as usual, but Luna had greeted him with an enthusiastic kiss to the cheek and shoved a picnic basket into his hands. Apparently, Wednesday was picnic day. They had trekked through the grounds of Draco’s home, the walk narrated by Luna describing the unusual properties of certain plants, until they came to a field north of his house that he’d never even seen before.

“You invent potions, don’t you? Can’t you invent a potion that turns people into tables?”

“I make potions that help sick people, I don’t think turning my customers into tables would make them feel very good.”

The child - Jess or Jackie, he couldn’t remember - nodded and frowned, deep in thought. “Maybe that’s what I’ll do when I grow up. Invent the table potion.” She stood up and hurried across the grass to another blanket, waving goodbye to Draco and immediately engaging in a very intense conversation with her friends, presumably to inform them of her future plans and the benefits of a ‘table potion’. “

They come up with some wonderful ideas, don’t they?” Luna laughed, handing him a cupcake. It was green and there was something purple sticking out of the middle, but Granger had eaten two since they’d sat down, so Draco supposed it wasn’t dangerous. “You’re good with children.”

“If you say so, Luna.”

“They like you,” she said, passing Longbottom the sausage rolls and brushing a fly off her jeans. “It’s very difficult to get seventy teenagers to like you.”

Granger made a noise of agreement around a mouthful of cake. “You’ve changed since we were at school,” she said, swallowing and reaching for a sandwich. “I think you’re starting to win over some of the adults too.”

Draco highly doubted that. Longbottom had yet to speak more than four words to him and Potter hadn’t so much as looked him in the eye since the duel, while the other members of staff - Padma Patil and a witch called Natalie he didn’t recognise - had hardly been around.

“Hermione’s right, you know,” Longbottom said. “You aren’t a _total _bastard.”

“High praise, Longbottom,” Draco replied, barely able to stop his jaw hitting the floor in shock. “I doubt Potter would agree.”

Longbottom laughed. “We aren’t twelve anymore, _Draco_. Call me Neville.”

Draco must have inhaled some of the fumes from his latest potion. There was no other explanation for Longbottom insisting that they should be on first-name terms.

“And I wouldn’t be too quick to judge Harry, you know.” Longbottom continued, oblivious to Draco’s confusion. “He's just a bit pissed that you showed him up in front of his class.”

“_He_ beat _me_, Longbottom.”

“You lasted longer than most people. The kids are used to duels that last a minute or two and Harry winning with ease, not by chance. They look up to you. Nothing cooler than someone who almost won a duel against _the _Harry Potter.” Longbottom grinned and pointed across the grass, where Potter was kicking a ball about with the younger kids and making exaggerated dives. “He’s a softie, really. He isn’t interested in old grudges; he wants to move on from the war. That’s why he worked with McGonagall and the Board of Governors to set this camp up, so we can educate children about Muggle and Wizarding culture, and teach them skills that aren’t covered in the Hogwarts curriculum.”

Luna nodded. “He teaches them how to duel safely so they can enjoy and defend themselves. He just wants the best for them, because he didn’t always have that growing up.”

“He’ll get over it soon.” Longbottom said, “He can’t bear to be at odds with those around him.”

Draco ignored the flutter of hope in his chest and took a tentative nibble of the cupcake. It was rather enjoyable, to his surprise, and tasted like cherries.

“He’s always been captivated by you,” Luna said, lying back on the blanket and turning her attention to the clouds above her. “I think you’ll get on nicely.”

-

It had been raining on and off since lunchtime, and all Draco wanted was to curl up in front of the fireplace with a good book and some chocolate. The grass outside of the cabins was like a bog and he had splashes of mud up his jeans that reached his knees. He was cold and muddy and tired and the children were _still_ asking questions.

If someone inquired about the number of bathrooms in his house one more time, he was certain he’d go insane.

They were huddled inside the largest of the cabins, the fireplaces lit and extension charms covering the walls to fit everyone inside until the rain died down. Draco was squashed between Martine - a first-year who seemed to have become rather attached to him - and Luna. He was beginning to wonder if it was considered bad manners to disapparate in the middle of a conversation.

“I do enjoy Cluedo, though. Don’t you Martine?” Luna asked. Draco had lost track of the conversation at least ten minutes ago, when talk had turned to muggle toasters and something called Scrabble.

“Who doesn’t like Cluedo? We played it in the Ravenclaw common room over the Christmas holidays with Professor Flitwick,” Martine replied, laughing. “Do you like Cluedo, Draco?”

“I have no idea what this ‘Cluedo’ is.”

“Really?” Martine’s eyes were practically bulging out of her head as she stared at him in shock. “You’ve _never _played Cluedo?”

“I think you’d enjoy it,” Luna said with a smile. “It’s a muggle board game. We normally play them on Thursday nights on the tables outside, but I suppose it’s a bit too damp for that now, and drying charms don’t seem to like wet grass very much. Must be all the nargles.”

“And what does this board game involve?” The only board games wizards had were chess and a strange version of drafts played with miniature quaffles and snitches - this ‘Cluedo’ sounded rather interesting.

“You have to find out how the person was murdered by using little figures and weapons on the board. It’s all very exciting.” Luna sighed. “It’s a pity we don’t have the space to play today.”

“I have plenty of space,” Draco said, much to his own surprise. Luna’s eyes lit up and, as she hurried over to confer with the Gryffindors, Draco was left with the distinct impression that he had been manipulated.

Ms. Gallagher was overjoyed to hear that Draco was bringing children over. She was a painting that had come with the house and an 18th-century farmer’s wife who took great joy in mothering him excessively and criticising his eating habits. Her favourite past time was pestering Draco about starting a family and following him from portrait to portrait around the house, insisting that he wasn’t getting any younger. She was a pain in the arse most days, but he was certain he would have gone insane without her incomprehensible nattering while he brewed in his lab.

“Oh, I haven’t spoken to a bairn in so long!” She gushed, her eyes darting excitedly between Draco and the door to the dining room. “I remember when mine were small, all grubby hands and big appetites.”

“I’m sure they’ll be thrilled to meet you too,” Draco said, sweeping away the last of the dust from the carpet and pushing the table against the wall with a wave of his wand. He never used this room - the seemingly never-ending oak table reminded him too much of the death eater meetings at the Manor and he couldn’t eat there without remembering the stench of blood and burnt flesh - but maybe the children could inject some life into the room. He’d much rather remember laughter than screams.

Draco was pulled from his rather maudlin thoughts by several loud knocks on the front door and a delighted squeal from Ms. Gallagher. He was surprised to discover he was almost as excited as her to welcome the children into his house, even if he was doubtful about the muggle board games.

Draco hurried to the door and the children poured into the hallway in a sea of multicoloured raincoats, dripping mud all over his shiny, freshly cleaned floor. He sighed quietly and reminded himself that Luna probably wouldn’t be too happy if he jinxed a child, dirty floors or not.

They piled into the dining room, the children splitting off into different corners of the room and settling into little groups, leaving Draco alone with a bunch of Gryffindors, Luna, and Cluedo. Natalie - who Draco had learnt was Padma’s penpal from Germany - excused herself to join the group of children playing Twister next to Ms Gallagher’s portrait. He could hear her joyful giggles from the other side of the room, and he wished he was as happy to be stuck playing what looked like a very small board game with a man who wouldn’t even look him in the eye.

Potter’s anger had dissipated over the last few days - Draco could finally breathe around him without being glared at - but rather than make an attempt towards some sort of truce as Neville had suggested that he would, he was doing his best to pretend that Draco didn’t even exist. Potter seemed to look right through him, as if Draco was a ghost that he didn’t particularly want to deal with. Draco had made one attempt to talk to him to alleviate the tension between them, but Potter hadn’t even glanced at him. He was too terrified of accidentally revealing his feelings by doing something stupid, like kissing those damn perfect lips, to try again.

“I think I’ll join the Scrabble group,” Potter said suddenly, moving to follow Natalie.

Luna reached out, grabbing his arm and yanking him back towards the group.

“They’re very responsible,” she insisted, staring Potter down and making Draco very glad he hadn’t refused a lunch invite. “They don’t need help. Besides, with you we have a perfect number of players.”

“I suppose.” Potter sighed, relenting almost instantly. Even the Savior of the Wizarding World couldn’t stand up to Luna’s stare. It took Draco a while to get used to the rules, what with all the cards and little pieces, but he found himself enjoying the game immensely. It was rather thrilling, trying to figure out who the criminal was and waiting on tenterhooks to see if someone had guessed right. Muggles were so much better than Wizards at this board game stuff, he thought.

Padma won the first game, something that didn’t appear to come as a surprise to the rest of the group, who grumbled quietly for a few moments before starting over again.

Two games later, when the rain was no longer hammering against the windows and some of the younger students were dozing against their friends, Draco shared a triumphant high-five with Luna as he won his first game. He’d enjoyed this night far more than he thought possible and he was starting to think that maybe children weren’t so obnoxious after all.

“Congratulations, Malfoy,” Potter said from behind him. Draco turned around and barely refrained from pinching his arm to check if what he was seeing was real.

Potter was offering him his hand.

“Never thought I’d see you play Muggle board games,” he mused, offering Draco a cautious smile. “You’ve changed.”

It was a peace offering. If Draco had known that all it would have taken was a silly board game, he would have taken more of in interest in Muggle culture at Hogwarts.

Draco thought briefly about rejecting the handshake, throwing Potter’s words from all those years ago back in his face, but discarded the idea almost immediately. The camp had welcomed him with open arms and there was an almost overwhelming sense of _rightness _when he was surrounded by the children. He wasn’t foolish enough to throw such an opportunity away and he shook Potter’s hand, cherishing the warmth of his palm against Draco’s own.

-

“Morning, Draco!” Luna greeted him as he opened the door. She was kitted out in yellow shorts and a t-shirt with a bright orange cat on the front, wearing a smile too bright and eager for any sane person to be wearing at half-past seven on a Sunday morning.

“Hello, Luna,” Draco replied blearily, already trying to think up an excuse to get out of whatever crazy activity she had planned for the children today. He wouldn’t use any of them, but it was nice to imagine that he had any sort of willpower when it came to refusing Luna. “What brings you here?”

Her smile grew impossibly larger and she clapped her hands together in excitement. “We’re heading off to the beach! You should come with us, the kids are just _dying _to see you again.”

Draco glanced upwards, noting the way the sun was already beating down on the grass and wincing as he imagined the dreadful sunburn a trip to the beach would result in. Sun-block charms weren’t made to withstand the August heat and he cursed the Wizarding population for being too lazy to invent new, more effective spells.

“We’re all going,” she continued, adjusting her flowery cap. “Even Hermione and she doesn’t much like the sand. I think the sand drifters affect her concentration. It’s very difficult to read with those little creatures nibbling on your toes.”

Draco thought it was best not to ask. He abhorred sand. It got _everywhere _and it was itchy and just plain annoying, but Draco had a feeling that a trip to the beach would be a free pass to ogle at a semi-naked Harry Potter, and well, he’d be a fool to pass up such a delightful opportunity.

“I’ll just go and get changed.”

-

Draco had sand all over him.

It covered his arms, in between his fingers, in his hair and some had even found its way into places where no man should ever have sand.

He was itchy, sweaty and he had vastly underestimated his ability to keep his cool when Harry - because it was _Harry _now upon Luna’s request - was walking around, bare chest glistening with seawater and miles upon miles of lickable golden skin on display, and generally looking like a wet dream.

The sudden lack of animosity between them was doing nothing to help Draco’s situation. Harry insisted on sitting next to Draco as he read under the shade of one of Luna’s umbrellas, asking Draco questions about his book and humming quietly under his breath as they sat in peaceful silence. It wasn’t quite perfect - they had yet to talk about anything more serious than a child with a sore throat and had been avoiding any mention of the war, but Draco was happy to pretend that everything was right in the world if it meant Harry sitting so close to him.

He was almost unbearably endearing as he spent the day mucking about with the children, pretending to duel with them using bits of driftwood they’d found in the sand. Draco could hardly function while Harry’s face was lit up like that as he laughed with two of the younger students, splashing and shouting for Draco to join them. Merlin, he could listen to Harry saying his name all day long.

-

They developed an odd sort of friendship as the days went by.

Their conversations slowly became less stilted and they ventured away from safe topics like books and the weather. Harry talked at length about his job and the dueling techniques he’d learnt since Hogwarts, and Draco could tell from the passion and affection in his voice just how much he adored his job and the children he worked with.

“I’m opening a duelling centre in October,” Harry said, waving as the last of the children disappeared into the cabins for the night. There were less than 2 weeks left before Hogwarts opened again for the school year and the camp was closed up until next summer.

The other staff members - his _friends _as Luna enjoyed pointing out - were inside the main cabin, where they slept, but Harry had decided to stay outside and watch the sun go down with Draco before they parted ways for the night.

Draco had never imagined that a silly duel and several lunch invites could leave him so attached to a place and he certainly never believed he’d enjoy the company of children. He was almost going to miss them.

_Almost_.

“Oh?” Draco couldn’t think of a more intelligent response, not when Harry was relaxed and he couldn’t stop staring at the easy smile on Harry’s face. A smile directed at him.

“Hermione helped me with all the paperwork.” He continued, “I have a building on Diagon Alley. It needs a bit of work, but George Weasley promised he’d pop over and help when he can.”

“I never thought you’d turn to teaching. I think everyone expected to see you become the youngest Head Auror the Ministry had ever had.”

Harry pulled a face. “I don’t think I’d last very long in the Ministry. Too many slimy politicians wandering about with punchable faces. Besides, the idea of fighting criminals and being expected to save the WIzarding World for the rest of my life wasn’t too appealing and I’ve always liked children.” He laughed and elbowed Draco playfully in the side, in a display of casual familiarity that made Draco’s heart ache. He wouldn’t get to experience this for much longer - he didn’t think maintaining a friendship with an ex-Death Eater outside of this camp would be high on Harry’s list of priorities, especially with a new business. “I never thought that you’d spend your spare time making joint potions for old ladies and mucking about with nosy teenagers.”

“I don’t just make potions for old ladies,” Draco huffed. “I trained as a healer in Switzerland after my year on house arrest.” He didn’t mention that it was the only place that would accept him. The rest had taken one look at his name and his arm and promptly thrown the application back in his face.

“You’re a healer?” There was a note of surprise in his voice, but he seemed impressed rather than condescending. “I was interested in healing once, but I don’t think I’d be able to deal with losing patients.”

Draco nodded. “I work in a research facility attached to one of the hospitals. We’re working on improving the Wolfsbane potion. We’ve made modifications to create a potion for people with partial infections, but so far only the Swiss and Icelandic Ministries have accepted it and began distributing it.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “That’s what Lavender and Bill used, isn’t it?” He asked. “That’s the potion Padma talked about, the one that controlled her urges around the full moon.”

“It is. We have managed to provide it to some of those who are connected with the hospital, but the Ministry refused to even let the healers at St Mungo’s take a look at it, so we haven’t been able to treat everyone.” Draco had a sneaking suspicion that his name on the papers that went with it hadn’t helped their case in the slightest.

There was clear admiration in Harry’s eyes and to his horror, Draco found himself blushing like a Hufflepuff on Valentine’s day.

“You really have changed,” Harry said softly, staring at Draco as if he was seeing him in a whole new light. “The old you would never have lifted a finger to help a werewolf, let alone work without the promise of some sort of reward or recognition.”

Then Harry was hugging him, arms wrapped around Draco’s waist as he pulled him closer. Draco never wanted to let go and he’d never been more glad to have turned away from his family’s prejudices.

-

Draco should have anticipated that becoming friends with Harry would present far more problems than it solved.

He’d offered up the use of his pool for the last week of the summer holidays, much to the delight of the children, who had been pestering him about the pool tucked away at the back of his home. It wasn’t much of an issue - Draco never used it anyway and what better time to use it than the hottest day of the year? Besides, he lived in _Wales_. It wasn’t often that it was warm enough to wear shorts, let alone take a dip in the pool.

After the trip to the beach, Draco had expected himself to be able to keep himself under control around Harry, despite his gorgeous figure.

He was very wrong.

Draco’s pool was nowhere near big enough to accommodate every child at the camp all at once, so Hermione had created a timetable for each cabin to take it in turns to go in the pool. It was currently Harry’s group’s turn and Draco was already wishing he’d stayed inside for the day.

Harry was unbearably breathtaking, all tanned skin and easy smiles, and Draco could barely contain the urge to jump him.

And, of course, they were _friends _now. Harry was far too close for Draco’s sanity, leaning in close to his face to talk to Draco over the noise of the children, placing his hand on Draco’s arm and generally invading his space in a way that simultaneously made Draco want to throttle Harry and kiss the life out of him.

Harry was resting against the wall next to him, lazily kicking his feet under the water as he supervised the children. He was telling Draco something about lunch arrangements, head tilted towards Draco’s face, leaving their lips just inches apart. Draco was far too focused on the little water droplets sliding down his toned chest to pay attention to anything Harry was saying. He wondered what it would be like to trace the path of the droplets up Harry’s chest, mapping out each dip and curve of his body with his tongue and hands and listening to Harry cry out in pleasure...

“Aaaah!” They were doused in water as two of the children jumped into the pool next to them with screams of joy, pulling Draco from his daydream and interrupting Harry’s monologue about sandwiches and seats. Harry dived after the children with a playful growl and as Draco watched him swim away, he could think of little else other than _I am well and truly fucked. _

-

_We think we’ve made a breakthrough. Come as soon as you can._

-_Head Healer Arn_

It wasn’t unusual to receive notes like this from the hospital in Switzerland. Technically he wasn’t employed by the hospital - a stipulation in his parole papers forbade him from finding a full-time job abroad for a good number of years - but he worked in the research department as a volunteer whenever they needed him. He wasn’t paid of course - much to his mother’s annoyance - but he enjoyed the work far too much to care about adding a few galleons to his pockets.

He was up on his feet and summoning his robes and spare clothes in seconds, pocketing the letter.

They’d been working on a version of their potion that was suitable for children, specifically the children who contracted lycanthropy from their mothers while they were in the room. The werewolf communities the hospital had contacts in had been crying out for a potion like this for _years_ and if they could perfect it, it would be life changing for people.

Most female werewolves were too scared to have children, out of fear that they’d pass their condition onto their children. It wasn’t genetic, but bloodborne, so many children caught it while they were in the womb or during labour, and the hospital had been working tirelessly to stop mothers feeling so guilty about having children.

Draco flicked his wand, sending his trunk hurtling across the bedroom. He’d have to owl Luna, let her know that he wouldn’t be around for the next few days, but at the moment all he could think about was apparating to the hospital. He pulled his robes on and picked up his trunk, hurrying down the stairs. His thoughts were racing, going over every possible scenario that he could be greeted with and casting his mind back to the other developments they’d made in the past months as he closed the front doors behind him. Draco ran his wand down the middle of the door, setting the wards on the house to keep people out until he returned. The doors glowed faintly and he turned around to walk to the bottom of the steps, where his anti-disapparition wards ended, when he noticed a figure making its way up the hill.

Draco would recognise that hair anywhere.

He stopped at the bottom of the steps, torn between joy at the knowledge that Harry was seeking him out and a desire to get to Switzerland as fast as possible.

“Draco!” Harry shouted, jogging the last few feet up the hill to meet him. He glanced down at the bag in Draco’s hand, his smile dropping slightly. “Where are you going?”

“I’m needed at the hospital. Urgently.”

“For how long?”

“I can’t be sure,” Draco said, twisting on the spot to apparate.

“Wait, Draco!” Even after all these weeks, the effect of Harry saying his name hadn’t faded. He felt weak at the knees already, and as much as he’d love to stay and listen to Harry say his name over and over again, his work had to come first.

“I’ll be back, Harry. Surely it could wait?” He apparated away without waiting for a reply and told himself he was imagining the disappointment on Harry’s face.

-

Draco landed on his steps with a thud, dropping his trunk and running across the grass away from the house.

He’d stayed in Switzerland too long, _far _too long, too caught up in the case of two small children and the development of the potion to realise how close the date of the camp’s departure was.

Draco reached the edge of the field, where the ground sloped down into a hill.

The camp was empty.

The picnic tables that usually littered the grass in front of the cabins had vanished, probably shrunk down and packed into the staff cabin, leaving only yellowed imprints behind in the grass. The games equipment that was normally stacked up against the cabins was gone, as if it had never been there at all. As if Draco hadn’t spent his mornings playing tennis with them for the past weeks. Even the cabins themselves lacked their usual warmth and brightness, the windows dull and lifeless and lacking the charm and beauty the children brought to them.

Draco was too late.

He spent the last few hours arguing with healers from St. Mungo’s about an ill child’s right to medical treatment, regardless of them being a werewolf or not, and he had been aching to get back to the camp so he could complain at length to Harry and be comforted with Luna’s questionable cakes. He found himself regretting not sticking around to hear what Harry had to say. Draco had thought about it all week, his minding running around in circles coming up with increasingly ridiculous ideas when he wasn’t focusing on his potions. He had hoped Harry would owl him and had waited eagerly for an owl to arrive at his window each morning. Nothing had arrived, other than a few short letters from Luna, and eventually Draco had decided that whatever Harry had to say wasn’t important. He probably just wanted to ask him about the pool arrangements for the week, Draco told himself.

It didn’t mean the lack of contact from Harry hurt any less.

With a heavy sigh, Draco turned around and picked up his trunk. Maybe he’d work up the courage to owl Harry this week.

He pulled his wand out of his pocket and lifted it to the door to lower his wards when he noticed a note had been stuck to the door. It was written on bright paper with little bees around the edge and Draco was quite certain that Luna was behind it.

_Dear Draco,_

_ We’re all sorry we didn’t get to say goodbye to you. (I think the children were more disappointed about not getting to play in the pool again.) We hope everything went okay in Switzerland and we look forward to seeing you next year when the camp opens again! _

_Lots of love, the staff and children of Hogwarts’ summer camp_

Underneath, all the children had signed their names and some had left their own little notes and doodles for him. Draco cast a preservation charm over it, not wanting to damage the wonderful little note. He carefully removed it from the door, unable to keep the smile off his face as he read through all the little additions thanking him and telling him how much fun they’d had with him. There was another note tucked underneath.

_<s>To <s>Dear</s> </s>Hello Draco, I wish I’d had the chance to say a proper goodbye to you before you left this week. I missed you I don’t think it would be very polite to tell you what I wanted to ask you in a letter, but maybe you could visit me in Diagon Alley? I’d like to see you again._

_<s><s>Love</s> </s>Take care, Harry_

-

Draco carried the letter from Harry around in his pocket for two weeks before he worked up the courage to visit him in Diagon Alley.

He hadn’t set foot there since the end of the war, when he’d had to help rebuild the shops that had been destroyed as part of his sentence. He didn’t enjoy the stares and whispers that had a tendency to follow him out in public, so staying - he refused to call it _hiding_ \- at home or at the hospital had been a much easier option.

It was quiet, given that it was early morning and most people were at work or in school. A group of older witches were huddled around a table outside of Fortescue’s and a man with two small children was chatting to the owner of Flourish and Blotts, but otherwise the street was empty.

Draco ignored the whispers and stares from the witches as he passed them and instead focused on trying to find the shop Harry was renovating.

The fool hadn’t left an address and Draco had been too anxious about making the trip to think about trivial things like where he was actually meant to meet Harry.

He was saved from wandering the streets aimlessly by a very welcome voice shouting his name. Harry was leaning casually against the doorway, paint splattering his jeans and dust covering his hair. Draco had never wanted to kiss him more.

He was adorably disheveled and grinning at Draco in a way that made his chest hurt.

“I was beginning to think you weren’t going to come,” Harry said, sounding hurt. He wiped his hands on his jeans and opened the door for Draco to enter the building. “You thanked Luna for leaving a note behind, but I didn’t hear anything from you.”

“I should have owled.” He felt awful; he’d been far too caught up wallowing in self-pity and agonising over his stupid crush to think about how Harry felt. “I’m sorry.”

Harry laughed and elbowed him good-naturedly, leaving a streak of white paint down the side of Draco’s jumper. He was glad he hadn’t bothered dressing to impress - Harry was going to have his clothes filthy before the afternoon was out.

“I’m not looking for an apology, you’re a busy man. Stop looking sorry for yourself and pick up a paint brush.”

Harry talked his ear off as they painted - as _Harry_ painted and Draco poked at the skirting board with his brush - telling him all about everything from the classes he was going to offer, to the extension charms he was using on the building, to potatoes he’d eaten at the Weasley house when he got back from the camp.

“You’d love Molly’s cakes,” Harry said, brushing his hair out of his eyes and showering his shirt in dust. “She makes the most amazing lemon drizzle cakes. You should come to the next Weasley dinner. I’m sure she’d be delighted to have another person to fatten up.”

“I don’t need _fattening up,_” Draco retorted. “Besides, I doubt she’d be happy to have me in her home with our history.”

“Nonsense. You’re pretty much Luna’s best friend and she knows you’re behind the potion that helped Bill deal with his symptoms during the full moon. She’d be thrilled to have you.” Draco obviously hadn’t hidden his doubt very well because Harry continued. “At least talk to her during the opening party. I think you’d be surprised.”

“Opening party?” He wouldn’t promise Harry anything - he still thought it was far too optimistic to believe Molly Weasley would welcome him into her home - but Draco supposed he could try for Harry.

“That’s what I wanted to ask you about, before you left for Switzerland,” Harry replied, suddenly appearing uncharacteristically shy and uncertain. “I wanted to invite you to the party. It’s for the dueling centre, of course, but the press made it a big deal, so McGonagall said that we could host it at Hogwarts during the October half term.”

“And you’re sure you want _me_ there?”

“You’ve changed, anyone can see that. People who don’t want me to train them because we’re...” He faltered and stuttered, and for a second, Draco thought he was about to say _together_. “_Friends_ aren’t people I want to teach. I want you to be there.” If he didn’t know better, Draco would almost think Harry was asking him on a _date_.

“If you insist,” Draco said, biting the inside of his cheek to hide his smile at the joy that lit up Harry’s face.

-

Draco adjusted his robes for what must have been the millionth time and smoothed his hair down. He had no idea why he was so fussy about his appearance all of a sudden. Being a potions master wasn’t the most glamorous of jobs and it had been a long time since he’d made a decent attempt to look presentable, much to his mother’s horror.

_You just haven’t had anyone to impress,_ his mind whispered. _You just want to look your best for Harry. _

“Shut up,” he said, straightening his collar and exiting his bedroom. He _wasn’t_ just there to see Harry. Luna was going to be there, and so was Blaise. He was going because it was a chance to catch up with some of his old classmates, he told himself, not to see if Harry looked as good in dress robes now as he had in fourth-year.

Draco hadn’t seen Harry since that afternoon, too caught up in his work and another sudden development with the potion to check in with him at the dueling centre again. A tiny part of him had been terrified to go back, just in case Harry suddenly decided he didn’t want a convicted Death Eater at the celebration for his new business.

Draco apparated outside the Hogwarts gates, pulling his cloak tighter around him against the wind as he walked up the hill. He hadn’t been back to Hogwarts since the final battle, but looking up at the magnificent building in the moonlight, it was hard to imagine people had died within its walls just a few short years ago.

As he got closer he could see the little imperfections in the buildings; a shallow dent in the wall where death eaters had dueled a student into a corner, barely-visible cracks running up the towers and glass panes that sparkled just that little too brightly to fit in with the rest. It was clear that Hogwarts was wearing her battle scars with pride. Draco had heard stories from Luna about Hogwarts rejecting the help of the team who rebuilt the school after the war and slowly healing itself from the inside. She had insisted that Hogwarts had refused to allow the team to make her look perfect again, her magic actively working to sabotage their attempts to fix every little broken tile and cracked wall. Eventually the team had given up and had instead watched as Hogwarts restored itself from the inside and little plaques dedicated to those lost in the battle began popping up all over the grounds.

He could see the outline of one of the plaques on the steps as he entered the building, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to take a proper look at it. It already felt wrong to be setting foot on Hogwarts’ grounds after the part he played in the war, he didn’t think he’d make it inside if he read the name someone on his side of the war had killed.

“Mr Malfoy!” Professor McGonagall called from the door to the Great Hall, beckoning him over. “What a pleasant surprise!”

“Professor,” Draco greeted her with a polite nod and a tight smile, resisting the urge to grimace as heads turned at the sound of his name. She laughed, patting his shoulder and grinning at him fondly. He could smell Firewhisky and Butterbeer and he had a sneaking suspicion that she was very, _very_ drunk.

“None of that _Professor _nonsense now, it’s Minerva to you.” She gestured inside, where Draco could already see the press swarming towards the door like seagulls honing in on a discarded chippy carton. “Harry’s in there somewhere. Hasn’t stopped talking about you all day, the silly goose.” There was a knowing glint in her eyes and Draco did his best to stomp down the hope that bubbled in his chest at her words.

“It’s nice seeing you, Professor.”

“_Minerva_,” she corrected, shooing him into the hall and greeting more people. Skeeter was at his side in an instant, her gaudy quill flapping in his face as he edged through the crowd towards what seemed to be a bar.

He had a feeling he’d be needing many Firewhisky’s before the night was over.

“_Draco!” s_he simpered, perching on the bar stool next to his like a bright green vulture as he ordered two butterbeers. “It’s been so long!”

“Not long enough,” he muttered, as she helped herself to one of Draco’s drinks. She laughed, high-pitched and over the top, resting her hand on his arm.

“I’d forgotten how witty you are! Now tell me, what are you doing here? I was under the impression that you and Harry Potter were sworn enemies.” Her quill was poised like a weapon besides her, waiting for Draco to speak.

“We have mutual friends,” he replied, taking a long swig of his drink. He wondered if he could escape to the toilets without her following him.

“Oh, but there’s more to it than that, isn’t there?” she said with a sickly smile, gently dragging her nails down his forearm in what he assumed was meant to be a seductive manner. He felt rather ill. “I want the _full _story.”

“Oh, do go fuck yourself, Rita dear, and let an old woman sit down.” Molly Weasley appeared at the bar next to Skeeter and none-too-gently shoved her off her seat, taking her place and waving down the bartender for a round of Firewhisky.

“_Well!”_ Skeeter huffed, shoving her quill into her pockets and marching off.

“Oh what I wouldn’t do to give that woman a good shake!” A dark look came over Molly’s face and for a brief moment, Draco had a glimpse of the woman who had murdered Bellatrix. It was gone almost instantly and then she was smiling jovially at him. “Draco, I’ve heard so much about you! How are your potions getting on? I heard you were behind the one that helped my Bill.” She spoke to him as if he was an old friend and Draco was embarrassingly close to tearing up at her welcoming smile.

“It was a team effort.”

“Nonsense! Harry and Hermione have told me how brilliant you are at potions, I’m sure plenty of the work is down to your intelligence.”

“That’s too kind of you, Mrs. Weasley.”

“That’s _Molly_ to you, young man. I won’t have someone Harry cares about being so formal.” Draco glanced out over the hall, where a dance floor had been marked out in the centre of the hall. The house tables had been pushed against the wall and were piled high with food. He had yet to see Harry anywhere and he was beginning to wonder if the man had skipped his own party.

“He’ll be out there somewhere,” Molly reassured him, and he didn’t want to ask how she knew what he was thinking about. Obviously he wasn’t doing a great job of hiding his feelings. She drew him into a conversation about baking and Sunday lunch, and Draco soon found himself agreeing to help her bake cookies for an orphanage at Christmas time. Draco had never baked in his life.

“Well,” she said, patting her thighs, “I think I’d better try and find my children. It’s not often they’re all in the same place at once!” Molly chuckled and pressed a motherly kiss to his cheek as she hopped off her stool and disappeared into the crowd. To his surprise, he found himself wishing she’d come back. He enjoyed her company immensely.

Draco sat back, resting against the bar as he scanned the crowd for Harry, absentmindedly wondering where he’d get good biscuit recipes from. He spotted Harry almost instantly and the sight of him in fitted robes was enough to have Draco salivating. They hugged him in all the right places and he had never seen a more perfect arse than Harry’s in those trousers.

Then Draco noticed a hand on Harry’s hip, and the beautiful woman that it was attached to.

They were pressed close to each other, whispering and smiling together. Harry tilted his head back, laughing at something she had murmured into his ear. He had never looked so beautiful and unattainable. The pair moved around the dance floor, hands resting intimately on hips and shoulders, moving with a casual grace that made it clear just how familiar they were with each other’s bodies.

Draco had never felt so _stupid._ How could he have ever thought that Harry returned his feelings? How could he have allowed himself to get his hopes up? And really, how could a washed out, reclusive potions master compare to the perfect woman Harry was wrapped around?

Draco stood, barely able to see through the tears forming in his eyes. He slammed down several galleons onto the bar before hurrying out of the room, feeling as if Harry had just ground his heart into a million tiny pieces under the heel of his expensive polished shoes.

-

Draco hadn’t spoken to Harry since the party.

He visited the hospital in Switzerland as often as possible, throwing himself into finding a working potion to distract him from anything related to Harry _bloody_ Potter.

Luna had owled him a few times, to let him know that her blue-haired vine plants were growing at a rather alarming rate and that she had noticed Harry seemed to have a lot of Nargles buzzing around him recently. He had replied politely, doing his best to skirt around the subject of Harry - he couldn’t bear to go back to calling him _Potter _again, not after the friendship they’d developed.

Now though, more than two months after the ‘incident’ at the party, Draco had no choice but to enter Diagon Alley, where he was bound to run into Harry or, at the very least, a Weasley.

His mother had developed a sudden interest in the history of the silk trade after taking muggle history classes in France, and Draco had purchased an old Japanese book that had been written a few years before the beginning of the second Muggle world war. It was just his luck that the little antique shop above Fortescue’s was the only shop that didn’t allow you to receive items via owl.

The street was packed and the snow was growing heavier and Draco prayed that it would be too busy for Harry to notice him if he was at the dueling centre.

He had no such luck, and, less than a minute after setting off down the street, someone was calling his name. Draco turned around to find Harry stood behind him, with two small children attached to either arm. He recognised the boy as his young cousin Teddy, who he had visited with his mother once or twice. “We’re heading to the cafe at the end of the street if you want to join us,” Harry said, adjusting his grip on the girl’s shoulder as she made an attempt to run off into the crowd.

“These two need hot chocolate and biscuits to distract them, they don’t enjoy shopping very much.” Judging by the weary look on Harry’s face, he didn’t either.

“Please Uncle Draco?” Teddy asked, grinning up at him. He’d lost a tooth since Draco had last seen him. “You can tell us about your potions again!”

“I don’t like potions. They smell bad.” The girl said, wrinkling her nose. “But Granny says that you made the potion that fixed my Daddy so they can’t be too terrible.”

Draco sighed, glancing mournfully at the antique shop and agreed.

-

The cafe was tucked away between a stationery shop and a broom servicing store. It was decked out for Christmas and Draco had never seen so many tiny christmas trees in one place. Everything was covered in a fine layer of red and green glitter and Draco could already tell he was never going to get his new jumper clean again.

Teddy picked out a reindeer shaped biscuit that was bigger than Draco’s hand and the girl - Victoire, he learnt - settled for one that had been decorated as a Christmas tree.

”How’s the dueling centre going?” Draco asked as they sat down in a booth. He was already starting to regret agreeing to join them; Harry seemed distant and rather off and Draco anticipated a long hour of silence ahead of them.

”Good,” Harry said shortly, stirring his marshmallows into his drink and avoiding Draco’s eyes.

”You must be rushed off your feet in there. You look tired.”

”I suppose we are quite busy,” Harry said, “We’re fully booked until March.” He sounded exhausted and Draco felt like telling him to go home and sleep and let Draco look after the kids.

“Teddy, why don’t you tell your Uncle Draco about the potion you made with your class this week?” The change of subject was unexpected, but he went with the flow, chatting to Teddy and Victoire about Pepper-Up. Harry stared silently into his mug, as if he was hoping to find all the world’s secrets at the bottom, and leaving Draco feeling as if he’d done something terrible.

-

“Why didn’t you say hello to me at the party?” Harry asked quietly, breaking the rather tense silence. They’d just stepped out of the cafe and into the snow, Victoire and Teddy running ahead of them to throw snowballs at each other in the nearly empty street. “Molly told me she spoke to you, but I didn’t see you at all.”

Harry looked so hurt that Draco didn’t even entertain the idea of making up a tired excuse. He was sick of avoiding his feelings and overthinking every little interaction with Harry - he wanted to tell him the truth, wanted to let him know how jealous he felt, seeing that woman slide her hands all over Harry. There was a chance, however minuscule, that Harry felt the same way. He couldn’t be imagining all the affectionate glances and touches that were just that little bit _too_ friendly to be platonic.

As much as Draco knew it would hurt, he could still try to be friends with Harry if he rejected him, he decided, willing himself to believe it.

“I was jealous,” He said, resolutely not looking Harry in the eye. “So I left early.”

“_Jealous?_ Of who?”

“That woman you were dancing with. I know it’s ridiculous and that you don’t have any sort of feelings for me-” Harry cut him off by shoving him. _Hard._

“You _idiot,_” Harry said, looking torn between disbelief and amusement. “That was Angelia, George’s _wife_. She was telling me that she and George are having twins. Why do you think I wanted to ask you to the party in person? I was _trying_ to ask you on a date!”

“A date?”

“_Yes! _What part of ‘I want you there’ didn’t you understand?” He was laughing now and Draco could feel himself blushing.

“You could have made it a bit more obvious,” Draco mumbled. “I thought you were just being polite.”

“Dear Merlin, Draco. Did you think the hugging was just polite too?”

“You’re a Gryffindor. You’re all meant to be huggers.”

Harry shook his head, nearly breathless with laughter.

“Does that mean this was a date too?” Draco asked hopefully.

“Do you want it to be?” It was an offering much like the handshake had been, except this time Draco didn’t hesitate.

“Of course I do.”

“Then we should do this again sometime.” Harry was smiling softly, all dimples and barely-there freckles and Draco couldn’t hardly say no to such a request now, could he?

They both moved at the same time, lips brushing and Harry’s the cool metal of glasses pressing against Draco’s face. Harry was hesitant, as if he was terrified Draco was going to pull away, but pressed closer, his hands sliding up Draco’s arms to come to rest on Draco’s shoulders. It was brief and clumsy and _perfect_.

“Without the children?” Draco asked, eyes fixated on Harry’s lips as they slowly separated. How could he possibly function normally again when he knew exactly how those lips felt against his own, how soft they were, how they tasted?

“_Definitely_ without the children.” Harry smirked, taking advantage of the fact that Teddy and Victoire were too distracted by the falling snowflakes to kiss Draco again, his cold fingers sliding across Draco’s jaw and a hand resting on his hip. Draco found himself running his hand through Harry’s unruly hair, silently marvelling at its softness and tugging slightly to bring Harry impossibly closer.

“I’ve been waiting to do this since you left for Switzerland,” Harry said breathlessly as they reluctantly pulled apart, Harry’s thumb rubbing slow circles against Draco’s cheek. “We could have saved a lot of heartache if you’d just given me a few moments to explain myself before you left.”

Draco chuckled and took Harry’s hand in his own, giving it a gentle squeeze. “We can’t change the past.”

“I suppose we can’t,” Harry said with a smile, returning the squeeze and pulling Draco along the street to join in with the snowball fight.

It wasn’t the romantic, fairytale ending Draco had dreamed about. They didn’t stare endlessly into each other’s eyes, hands clasped together as they confessed their undying love under the stars. It was shy, awkward and ridiculously endearing, but it was _Harry_ and to Draco, nothing else mattered.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please support the author by clicking on the kudos button and leaving a comment below! ♥


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